To Say Goodbye
by Raggazzed12
Summary: The story of how Micky became a cripple, and of who his best friend was. When that friend gets hurt badly, Micky has to say goodbye to him one last time.
1. Chapter One: Alone

Chapter One

Alone

** Author's Note: So here we go, I'm starting a new fanfiction story that I put up on a vote and got a tie so I'm doing this one first. I know that some of you will recognize Micky, the main character, and maybe a few other characters too from previous stories. Okay, I'll stop and got back to Newsies because you probably don't want an entire lecture on something. So here we go…**

I crawled down the side walk, trying to stand up and failed every time. I could only think about what had just happened. The store had just fallen down. I had been in it. I was lucky to have gotten out alive. I was lucky to have gotten out at all, because my leg was useless. It was my left leg, and everyone really does need both legs. I knew that I could get to the newsies here in the Bronx if I tried, but I wasn't sure how. It was hard because I was dragging myself along the ground and I knew the way yet it was dangerous. Extremely so, actually, and I wasn't sure I would make it without getting hit by a carriage.

Finally, I saw the sign for the lodging house. I dragged myself to the doorstep, and collapsed, hoping someone would find me. It was later than normal and everyone would be in the lodging house by now, getting ready. I had lived with them before, until I went to work at the store. They hadn't been happy when I left. No one had. Checkers had almost flung the woman who was my aunt out the door but he had to respect her, even being the leader.

Now I was here. I was so tired and my body felt like lead. I knocked weakly at the base of the door and lay there, hoping someone would be near the door to hear me. It felt like ages passed while I lay there. Finally, someone opened the door. I saw the astonished face of a newsie who I didn't know. He called for Checkers though, and boy, was I glad to see the leader of the Bronx newsies come to the door. When he saw me, his stunned expression was more than just relief.

"Micky! Wha'... Oh nevah mind." said he and he picked me up somehow and carried me into the lodging house. I was put in a bunk and he sat down next to me. "Micky, how did ya… wha's wrong wid youse leg?"

I looked at it and knew not how to answer because I couldn't through the pain for a moment. It was twisted and horrible looking. And I knew how it had gotten that way.

"Da store… it fell an' Ise came heah." I coughed out. Checkers looked at me. I could see his astonishment still on his face.

"Whose dat?" asked a boy who was younger than me by a few years, and I was 10.

"Dis is Micky." said a familiar voice. Out of the small crowd came a boy with brown hair and freckles, his blue eyes looking at me, and a smile spread across his face.

"Patch…" I said, feeling a small smile spread across my face as well. He was my closest friend here. We'd been friends for the longest time.

We had met in an alleyway one day when I had run away from home for a moment because I wanted fresh air. I wanted the outside world. When he had approached me I had nearly gone back in. I was 7, and so was he. After introducing myself to him, he told me his name and I said it was a strange name to be born with. He said it was a nickname, a newsie one. I asked him what a newsie was. He said that it was a news boy, a street trader, a kid who sells papes. I asked him why he talked like I did. He said he figured that I had grown up with parents who had that same way of talking. I said I had. He said that he had to go and wondered if I could meet him at the same place the next day. I said I could.

And that had started our friendship. When I had become a newsie, he had been so enthralled that he let me sleep in the bunk underneath him while the others wouldn't let me because they were either full or didn't want me snoring beneath them. Then my aunt had come and Patch had nearly kicked her out of the house, along with Checkers. Now I was back again.

He came closer and sat down next to Checkers. I knew he was happy to see me, it was showing brightly on his face. I looked at him as Checkers explained to him what had happened quietly. I saw the smile disappear and he became serious. I wondered if Checkers had told him something else.

Then everything went black.

When I awoke, my leg was hurting pretty badly and only Checkers and Patch were there. Both looked worried.

"Wha' happened?" I asked weakly.

"Ya blacked out 'cause of ya leg." said Patch, looking at me with a small grim smile.

"Me leg don' feel good or nothin'." I said.

"It ain't normal. Ise don't know if youse are gonna be able ta use it aftah dis. I hope ya can." said Checkers, looking at it nervously. "Ise shore hope so."

I didn't ask. Checkers was 13 years old and not one to deal with, but his face was totally serious. I didn't want to be a cripple. I knew a few, and although the newsie cripples didn't have bad luck, in fact, people gave them more than what they sold papes for. But I didn't want to be one. I had to have both legs to use. I looked at Patch, wondering if he would still be my friend. I couldn't have stood it if he didn't want to be. But it was then that I knew he would be and would remain my friend because he gave me a small smile that was a simple smile but it meant more than what it appeared to be. It was hope.

**Author's Note: Well, I hope you have enjoyed this and that was chapter one! I will not be updating until Wednesday or possibly Tuesday because I will be in New York City, which I am extremely excited about, so that's what is going to happen. I hope you have enjoyed as I said, thank you, and please review, review, review!**


	2. Chapter Two: Home Again

Chapter Two

Home Again 

**Author's Note: Well, the title is right, I am home again, just kidding, but yeah, I am and so is Micky. I will beg for a review because I really need one and… well, more than one but one will make my day with this story because I need it and yeah. So please read on, but I will beg you to review again at the end. Now I'll get on with it….**

I fell asleep after all that had happened but my leg still ached and I would find myself wondering how on earth I was going to survive each time I woke up in the night. I was left alone but being alone seemed to be my biggest fear for some reason or other yet I couldn't tell why. I would wake up to face the pitch black darkness that made up night and become scared and fall asleep again. I don't know why I did this, but I did and it happened more than once that night. When I finally awoke that morning when the sun was up, I lay there, uncertain of what was to come because I didn't know if I could walk.

Patch walked over to me soon enough and I could see he was looking at me with a slightly worried expression on his face.

"Micky, da you feel bettah?" he asked. I nodded, feeling rather tired and wondering how I was going to manage to sell papes anymore. "Checkers says dere's a crutch in da closet dat he tink's will fit ya."

"From wha' person?" I asked, almost scared to ask this.

"I'll tell ya dat latah. Ise'll go git it, youse wait heah." was the quick reply. He left and came back with an old wooden crutch, but I knew it would serve me well.

I put it on my left side, which was the leg that was disabled and stood up, almost falling over. Patch steadied me with a hand on my shoulder and helped me get used to the feeling. I made it out the door and to the distribution center without falling over too much and I had started to get the hang of it once we set out for a corner. Patch helped me the whole way and once we got there, I stood still, breathing heavily.

"So, ya wanna know who owned dat before ya, eh?" he asked, and I nodded. "Well, dere was dis cripple named Chris an' we's calle' him dat 'cause dere was no way we coulda come up wid a name for him. Chris was gentle an' all but den one day he got sick.

'''e said it was 'is polio actin' up again. We didn' tink it would do 'im any harm at all, but boy were wese wrong. He got real sick an' all an' da leader, whose name was Rob tried ta keep Chris 'live an' everything. Chris was 'bout 15 years old an' hadn' done much wid 'is life. Den one night he tol' Rob dat dere was no way he was gettin' bettah and dat was da night he died. I remembah it, 'e was so sick an' dere was jus' no hope. He died an' Rob stuck dat crutch in da closet. Checkers remembahs Chris pretty well an' I tink he was scared an awful lot ta find out what had happened ta youse 'cause he ain't wantin' ta deal wid dat."

I saw Patch's face go through several emotions all the way through saying this and by the end I was almost scared stiff that something horrible was going to happen to me. But I knew I hadn't had polio and I didn't have to be too scared of it even if I had a bum leg. Maybe it was only a thing that could happen to cripples that had become a cripple through polio and not to someone like me who had just had something fall on my leg. I truly hoped so.

The corner we were selling at was right next to a store with great glass windows that often showcased whatever they were selling. That day, they had a bunch of books and some clothing hanging in the windows. I didn't really observe them that much but little did I know that in the coming days, those windows would be important to me in a horrible way.

We sold until lunchtime and at lunchtime we scouted out a place where most of the other newsies were, it had good food and was affordable so no one saw anything wrong with the fact that it was the most commonly used newsie's food source in the entirety of the Bronx. In fact, if you didn't eat here, the other places were full of business men and while you could sell to them, there wasn't much you could eat because it was all expensive food.

Patch led the way into the restaurant and went and sat down at a table that wasn't taken by anyone and was in the corner. He motioned for a waiter to come over and ordered food for the both of us since I never could decide on anything, and he knew it. Then he faced me and a smile spread across his face.

"So, howse are ya feelin'?" he asked.

"Jus', jus' shaken up a littl' bit an' maybe in denial an' all." I replied, knowing that if I really told Patch how I felt, it would take a lot longer than that and he might worry about me even more.

"Ya know, dere… we ain't gonna jus' let ya starve in a corner. Noone's gonna throw youse outta da Bronx lodging house again, outta us newsies 'gain." said Patch, addressing a worry that had been on my mind for a while now. I looked up from the floor where I had been looking at my leg.

"Well…dat's good." I said, wondering how he had known I had been thinking about that very thing.

"Ya know, I tinks we'se are too young ta hafta boder wid dis all. Dat youse are too young ta worry 'bout a gimp leg an' all. Dat I gotta worry 'bout me fadder gettin' outta jail an' tryin' to take over me life again." Patch said, seriously. I looked out the window, thinking about a lot of things, trying to figure out a few things.

"I suppose youse are right."

"Yeah, it be true. Come on, jus' take youse food an' let's go sell more papes." said he, and I grabbed my food as he did his and stumbled up to a standing position.

We went back out to the corner where we started to sell more papes. I got looks from people a lot, and not many were sympathetic, so I didn't get any extra money. But I didn't mind, and neither did Patch. This corner was one of the busiest so extra money was appreciated but it wasn't always needed.

In the evening, we headed back slowly, for my leg was hurting. I didn't know why and tried not to show the pain, but unfortunately, Patch noticed and slowed down. We finally got back and Checkers greeted us quickly, looking relieved that we had come back. I noticed he looked worried and I became scared, wondering what horrible thing had happened now. I looked at Patch who looked back at me with a worried expression that I knew I was wearing as well.

"Youse two, tank goodness ya alright. Follow me." said Checkers, and we went into the building, as I wondered what had happened.

**Author's Note: That's chapter two, I hope you enjoyed! Also, I am begging for reviews, and will do so again if I have to, so please review. And then school starts again tomorrow… I'm not excited for Christmas break to end, but I'm finishing it with updating stories. So thank you again and I beg you to please review, review, review!**


	3. Chapter Three: Injuries

Chapter Three

Injuries

**Author's Note: So here's chapter three, and so I would like to thank the one and only reviewer but to I am thankful, theater104. Thank you so much and I know I was begging but I'll try to stop now, and thank you I am glad you enjoy it and I'm glad you thought it was a good start to a story! I'll get on with it now. Here we go…**

We followed Checkers in quickly through the hallway into the bedroom. On a bed there was a boy who I didn't recognize and others were grouped around the bed. We approached the bed following Checkers to the bed. I looked the boy over, and noticed that he was bleeding from his head and a long gash was down his side. He had blond hair and wasn't very tall.

"Who's dat?" I asked Patch.

"No idea." was his simple, quick reply. I nodded, breathing slowly.

The boy was older, he looked about 13 at least. I didn't know what to make of him, I'd never seen this boy before, but he was dressed almost like a newsie, yet not really, an orphan more likely. Checkers went up and touched the boy's forehead. I looked from Patch to the bed again and again, wondering what was going on here. Then my leg gave a throb and I nearly fell over, staying upright only by force.

"Ya found 'im where?" asked Checkers.

"Jus' in da alleyway." said another boy. "'e was jus' lyin' dere like dis. I dunno who he is or nothin'."

"Where am…" a voice came from the bed. The boy was talking, his eyes slowly opening. "Who are ya? Where is dis place?"

"Youse are in da newsies' lodgin' house in da Bronx. Who are ya?" asked Checkers, trying to appear threatening and trying to stop his curiosity from taking ahold of him.

"Me name's John, John Conlon." he said, looking up at Patch menacingly.

"Conlon, eh?" replied Checkers. "Where'd ya get knifed like dat?

"I…I dunno. It was da street gang, bu' I beat 'em up pretty quickly. Den Ise blacked out 'cause one of dem 'ad knifed me. An' den…" he left off with a small whimper of pain but denied the cloth a boy tried to hand to him.

"Alrigh', da rest of ya, go ta bed." Checkers ordered. We followed his command as I followed Patch to our bunk bed.

It was rather hard maneuvering my leg and body to lie down on the bed that night, but I managed to and stayed lying on my back the rest of the night. Patch only told me goodnight before I was sound asleep, mind and body exhausted from the days' activities.

The morning was bright and cheerful yet questions hung in the air, thoughts from every newsie, from every boy and the few girls in the building, questions about the new boy who was injured and seemed to be stuck here. Patch and I headed out through a crowd of newsies who were dressing and getting ready for the day.

We went to the distribution center and got our papes, heading to the corner where we would sell our papes again today. Patch was quite silent and though I wanted to ask him what was wrong, I didn't know if he would snap at me or actually explain why he was silent. I still got stares, and when a boy and a girl with their mother came along at one point, I was picked on.

Neither I nor Patch expected someone to open-endedly tease me and make fun of me like these people did. This explains why I was caught off guard when the boy said something.

"Is he a real cripple, mommy?" asked the boy, looking innocent but when I looked at him I saw something that was like malice in his face.

"Yes dear, but don't make any sort of contact with him, it isn't proper." the mother replied. I stared at her, and Patch stepped up.

"'xcuse me, ma'am, but it ain't ya business ta boder wid talkin' like dat?" asked Patch, looking as tough as he could. I motioned for him not to make any more comments.

"It isn't your business, boy, to talk like that now, is it?" asked the girl, who was older and looked as if she were 15 years old.

"Jus' eider buy youself a pape or don' boder." I said, almost growling with indignation. "Youse ain't able ta contain youse thoughts any bettah den youse moder can, so eidder buy youself a pape, or go."

"Well, excuse me, but aren't you a nice gimp to be talking to adults like that? And all this time I thought newsboys were misunderstood creatures, but I'm beginning to think just the opposite." the mother said, and ushered her boy onward, glancing at the girl as if to try and make her come along too. The girl stayed where she was for the moment.

"Ya gonna leave?" asked Patch.

"No. I would like to state my mind on you two. You'd better watch out or my mother and I will have and cause trouble with the both of you, and even some of your friends."

"I ain't gonna like ta say dis, bu' jus' 'cause youse older an' gotta education, dere ain't no way youse would evah survive on da streets. An' jus' stop tryin' ta teach us, 'cause we don't an' ain't gonna listen." I told her firmly, hoping that would induce her to move on. I didn't like doing this to girls but this one deserved it.

And so she left, making a significant glare at the both of us as she walked away. I didn't feel like I wanted to deal with anyone else like this and glanced at Patch who was watching the girl move away. Then I bent down and gripped my leg which had just given a painful twinge. Patch came over the minute he saw me bending down and obviously in pain.

"Wha' is it, youse leg?"

"Yeah, bu' don't pay no mind ta it. I ain't in serious pain or nothin'." I replied quickly, knowing he would be protective if he felt like it.

"Nah, we'se need ta go home 'cause oder wise, I don't know wha' could happen ta youse." was his reply. I looked at him, wondering if he was really this worried.

"Bu' I need ta make more money an'…" then I fell into a lapse of silence as my leg hurt even more.

"Ya come on." said he, pulling me along.

We went back to the lodging house to find things in an uproar. The injured boy, Conlon, was obviously feeling better because he was torturing the houseman and Checkers was there too, answering any question that came from the boy. We entered and he quickly approached us.

"Dere ain't no way I wanna deal wid dis oder boy any more. Conlon's a fighter, bu' he'd do bettah in Brooklyn than heah. Wha's da mattah?" he announced to us.

"Me leg ain't feelin' good." I replied, and he nodded, sighing, and pointing to my bed.

I went on over, lying down and I couldn't seem to find a way out of this whole staying in bed thing. It wasn't fun and I didn't like it, so I didn't see why I had to. Checkers was just really worried, and I knew why, but had I known what was coming I wouldn't have been quite as deeply worried about my own life and leg.

**Author's Note: Well, that's chapter three and I hope you enjoyed it! I do admit it was a bit of a filler chapter and foreshadowed what was to come, but don't worry, you will find out soon. Thank you again and please review, review, review!**


	4. Chapter Four: Fatal Windows

Chapter Four

Fatal Windows

** Author's Note: I promise that this chapter … well, I sure hope it's longer than the last one. I apologize for not updating sooner, I was either too lazy, at dance, at school, or, well, everything else, but here I am again! Theater104: thank you for reviewing, I appreciate it a lot! I really wish that some ****other people**** would review too, but hopefully they do with this chapter, and thank you again! The title here is obviously suggesting that I'm about to get … risky. Alright, I'll get on with the story. **

The next morning, I had to beg Patch to take me with him to sell papes. He refused every time I asked him for about 15 minutes and finally gave in after my annoying side won him over. We went out to our corner that day, content with everything that was going on since the headlines were wonderful. The papes were selling fast, and the only time I took a break was for lunch. Patch came with me but returned to the corner faster than I did.

When every paper in our hands was gone, I was ready to head home. It was only 2 in the afternoon, and this meant that we had a lot of free time on our hands, but Patch didn't want to leave the corner just yet, because he had told Checkers that he would meet him there. My mind was only on getting out of there, and for some reason, Patch just didn't want to. So I started to hobble across the street, and upon reaching the other side, I heard shouting coming from down the street. Looking for where the source of the shouts were, I spotted a carriage running rampant down the street, the driver holding on for dear life.

I looked over at Patch who was staring at the sight, just staring, and when it started to fly towards him, I yelled at him to move. He didn't, he was paralyzed.

"Patch!" I screamed, "Patch, MOVE!"

He didn't seem to hear me. At the last second, he tried to, but the carriage smashed into the corner, and I watched. He went flying backwards into the window, I saw the carriage push him into it. The window smashed, and he went into the store, the window must have done damage to him, it had to have, but I couldn't believe it. All I could see, again and again in my mind was his body, flying backwards after the carriage hit him. I saw his terrified expression, his face with a scream that never came.

Then, I hobbled as fast as I could back over to the corner, praying that everything was going to be fine and he was going to be alright. I busted into the building where only one other person was, and he was staring at the carriage driver's body, the man was obviously dead. But I saw Patch's body behind a table, and I went as fast as I could to him, to get to him, almost tripping over my crutch.

When I saw him, I couldn't say I wasn't disgusted at all. It was disturbing to see my friend's body lying there, bloody and torn from the glass in it. His face was bloody, a piece of glass had cut his forehead open and he was unconscious by the looks of it. There was a giant gash in his chest and his arms were both torn and bloody, his legs looking similar. I got down beside him, not sure what to do. We needed to get help, but the only other person that was around and alive was the man behind the counter, and he was checking the dead man. I struggled up slowly, then screamed for help, all the while watching Patch breath shallowly. Help didn't come, and neither did the other man, who was calling someone on the phone. I knew he was trying to get help, but I highly doubted that it was for Patch, yet I didn't want to give up hope yet. I couldn't, not when the world seemed to have stopped.

People had gathered around the area staring at the wreckage, and I kept hoping one of them would be a newsie, Checkers or someone, anyone, who would pop up and come help. But even after a large crowd had collected around the corner, no one I knew appeared. I became even more scared and sat down, or more or less flopped down beside Patch, searching for ways to stop the bleeding. Suddenly, someone appeared next to me. It was a ruddy face, blond boy with an upturned nose; I recognized him as Badger, the only newsie I knew that was named after an animal. He was looking more and more concerned by the minute.

"Where's Checkers?" I asked him, trying to stay calm.

"Not heah." was all he said, and I kept quiet. "We'se gotta get 'im outta heah, but you ain't gonna be able ta carry 'im, are ya?"

I shook my head, and he nodded. Then, he stood up and ran.

"Where ya goin'?" I yelled after him, scared.

"Ta get help! Stay dere!" he yelled back, and I looked back down at Patch, who was looking worse by the minute.

Finally, after I sat there for a really long time, wondering how Patch was still breathing, Checkers appeared. The crowd was still there but people had come and taken away the cab driver's body, obviously from the hospital, and everyone else was just standing there. Having lived in the Bronx for a long time I knew that people did this when something bad happened but for some reason I didn't know why they couldn't see me or Patch, or didn't seem to care. No one had called out "There's an injured boy!" or "This boy over here might die, we need help!" because they were all too far away.

Checkers looked more distressed than I had ever seen him. When he finally calmed down enough to speak-as the shock had affected him greatly- he and Badger picked Patch up and I tried to get up, only managing to do so because I was determined to save my best friend. We rushed out of the wreck and it was only then that the crowd took notice of us. A man called something but we were already too far away to hear him and we didn't care. If we had known he was a doctor, it might've changed things.

We ran to the lodging house as fast as was possible and the only person to great us was the houseman, who looked alarmed and rushed into his room to call someone, probably a doctor. They put Patch down on a bed and I pulled a chair up next to him, landing in it with some difficulty as I was breathing heavily and was still worried.

A man appeared several minutes later, a doctor, and all the while Conlon was asking what was wrong from his bed and Checkers barely answering him or speaking to us at all. I didn't want to think about what was going to happen next. The doctor sat, bandaging Patch, but when he came across the gash in the chest, he looked at us with a grim face.

"This….this is his death sentence." he said. "I won't be able to fix that. It's too deep and hit too close to the heart. I can't do anything. I'm sorry, boys."

We sat there in silence as the doctor picked up the rest of his stuff from the floor and stood up.

"He will wake up again. But after that, nothing is…well, the chances aren't very likely that he'll survive." the doctor said, and then left.

Checkers was looking more and more depressed by the minute, and I was in a state of being paralyzed, much like how Patch had been in before the cab ran into the shop. That stupid, stupid cab. What was the world trying to prove anyway? That there was no way of living if you were a newsie, a poor, hopeless boy on the streets, without getting scarred, mentally or physically? I didn't know how to respond to anything anymore.

"Dat doctor didn't wanna help 'im. 'e didn't care!" Checkers yelled all of a sudden. I looked at him, feeling tears enter my eyes.

"Dat ain't true." I said, trying to convince myself that Checkers was wrong. "Dey's doctors, dey ain't supposed ta do dat."

"Yeah, says who?!" said Checkers, looking more and more furious by the minute. "Doctors don't got no feelin' for us newsies, dey don't care at all! We'se jus' a bunch a' dirty street rats dat don' know howse ta stay outta trouble."

"But…." I faltered, then the tears spilled over as I realized Checkers was right. That doctor had never cared about what happened to Patch after he saw the gash. He could've fixed it, but he hadn't even tried.

Then Checkers broke down and cried, though I knew he didn't like to do so a lot, it didn't make him look tough. We all sat there for the longest time, wondering how anything so horrible could happen to someone who didn't deserve it, how someone couldn't give even a cent worth of honesty and caring to save a person's life.

**Author's Note: Oh, you thought this chapter was painful? Next chapter is gonna be much worse, I tell you. But don't worry, because I assure you, the world will keep turning even though all my characters probably don't think it will….well, that was chapter four, I hope you enjoyed it! Thank you for reading and please, I beg you, I implore you, to review, review, review, because it makes me write a whole lot more!**


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